La Follia
by Unreasonablyme
Summary: The affair between a master criminal and a forensic pathologist was not by any means traditional. A two-shot with each part detailing the relationship between Molly and James Moriarty. Perspectives from both characters take place throughout series one and two. T for slight violence and mature themes.
1. Part I

La Follia

Every meeting starts with a hello. What brought Molly Hooper in the grip of a criminal mastermind was just as simple as a hello. Granted, he did not appear as a genius or a murderer. Instead, he took on the appearance of a kind and daring man. It was his charming nature that lured her into his path. Often Molly would do anything to avoid those who were far too eccentric, fearing the thought of looking the fool to those who fancied themselves better than her.

Jim from IT was harmless in every sense of the word. The morning she met him, Molly arrived to work earlier than usual and upon picking up paper work he was simply… there. A stupid grin plastered on his features. He approached her eagerly and held out his hand, "Hello. I'm Jim!" It was curious to have someone so cheery in a morgue. Molly didn't even wear a smile when coming into work and she was a genuinely sunny person.

"Molly," she responded quietly, taking his hand in hers. She took note of how smooth and soft his skin was. It was as if he never lifted a finger to work his entire life. He shook her hand quickly at first but soon slowed the pace, attempting to catch her gaze with his own. Feeling as if she was being sized up she moved to pull away but his hold tightened.

"Molly, eh? Charming name you've got." He then released her with a soft chuckle and watched as she began to make her way through the office. Molly quietly thanked him but became distressed upon noticing his eyes were still on her. It only took her a minute to do her business but it felt like an eternity. This Jim was there, fixated on her. It was off-putting to say the least. No one fixated on her! As was right! Molly fled the office as soon as possible, hearing Jim call after her, "Well… bye then!"

It was a few days later when she saw him again, he was working on the computer when she came in with a bundle of paperwork. He bolted from his seat and took the papers from her, "Let me help you." Molly was surprised but did not object. Thanking him she headed for the door but was stopped as he called for her.

"It's Molly, isn't it?" Nodding at his question and he pursed his lips in thought. "You don't remember me do you?"

Molly sighed and walked back into the room and took a seat, "I remember you—sorry—I mean, I have not seen you around before and it looked like you were busy…"

"Nah, just pointless stuff, really." Jim reached over to the keyboard and pushed a few keys before the computer screen went black. "I am new though. That's probably why you haven't seen me. You've got any bits of information that will help me out here? Any managers I should be wary of?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Molly said before thinking. "I-I—mean…"

He laughed, "What kind of sick person would name their child Sherlock?"

Molly flushed red and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, "He's a private detective. Sometimes he comes and examines bodies… for cases. He… well… you'll have to meet him to understand but sometimes he can be very blunt."

"He sounds like a bloody ray of sunshine." They shared a brief and awkward laugh. Each of them unsure of what to say. Jim did not miss a beat to speak again. "You know… It's so lonely here. How do you stand it? … Being alone in these awful rooms day in and day out."

This Jim talked quite a lot. It was a change for those who usually frequented morgues. Feeling the need to give him some sort of interaction she smiled and nodded, he seemed to light up at that, "How about we go for coffee? I mean—would you like coffee?"

"… With me?" The universe had suddenly turned upside down at that simple question. For the longest time it what her asking Sherlock for coffee, now another man was asking her. Molly's mind raced, why was he asking her? Well, that didn't matter did it, he asked her, that's all there is too it. It's just coffee!

Jim's Cheshire cat smile seemed to twist in amusement, "Yes. I can't very well have coffee with myself. Well, I can but I'd rather have a pretty lady on my arm." A pause passed and he then chuckled, "I mean… take you with me so we may both have… coffee in the presence of the other."

It was impossible to stifle her laughter so she let herself giggle. "Are you always this smooth?"

"Oh Dove, why don't you have coffee with me and find out?" Jim leaned against the counter and tilted his head, awaiting her answer.

"All right," Molly agreed, a smile gracing her features.

Jim did not look away from her and instead kept her locked within his sights, as if she were to run away at any moment. "All right."

* * *

It was a diversion. _She_ was a diversion. A game within the game. None of it was necessary; Jim had not intended to meet her. It was not until she mentioned Sherlock did he see some potential in her—she liked Sherlock. Of course, he made it his business to know everything about everyone. It was too easy to find out ones innermost desires. Molly, simple little dove Molly. She was different. Not in the 'mystical woman' sort of way. She was plain. Oh so painfully plain. No one would see her, not even Sherlock Holmes who prided himself on reading everyone like a book.

_He_ could see her. Not Sherlock. It was tiresome, keeping up this act; his head ached from restraining his every action. The playing field opened up before him with Sherlock at the goal post and Molly in the center. His best bet was to get to Sherlock through her, to use her to make things move seamlessly. To trick Sherlock was to pay attention to detail and Sherlock did not pay Molly heed. What a good way to hide, was to become a part of her.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Jim looked up from his cup into brown eyes and flashed a, what he hoped, was a charming grin. He wanted to dazzle her; it seemed to work, for a lovely shade of red rose up in her cheeks.

Motioning to his cup he chuckled, "Just admiring the fine coffee at The Coffee Bum" Molly had picked out their location and it just so happened to be a whole in the wall coffee shop called The Coffee Bum. The walls of the building were covered in cardboard, posters, blankets, the only somewhat new looking piece of the shop was the counter, which had a picket sign saying 'twenty percent of purchase goes towards the homeless fund'. They were feeding a problem but Molly insisted so Jim paid for their coffee and cake and gave twenty percent of that to the homeless… joy.

"It's a great place isn't it, they give you good food and you help people in need." She sipped her drink delicately, "and the decorations are well done too."

Jim held back a scoff, she was so sweet! God! It was as if she were an angel and he a devil's minion. "Yes, I agree. Very—nice." He adjusted his seat which was simply an upside down tin trashcan with a small pillow on top, it was not too comfortable but at least it looked better than the table, which was a large block of wood with newspapers on it in place of a tablecloth.

"So, what brought you to London? Or… were you here before… just didn't work at St. Barts?" Molly was sincere in her question, but Jim was too excited to start playing a game and test his creation of the character "Jim from IT".

"Oh, there's no interesting story there. I worked just outside of London, actually. At a tech shop. I'm good with computers… they're easy to understand. I suppose, that's how you feel about bodies." And there was the blush again; it was so easy to get a reaction from her. It was very much like playing an instrument, if he hit the right notes she would sing what he wanted her to.

He was curious. How much could she share about Sherlock? He leaned forward slightly, propping his elbow on the table and resting his head in his hand. "I remember that you mentioned someone with a really… weird name. Sheryl or something?"

"Sherlock," Molly smiled wider, if possible, though there was a wistful far off look in her eye at the mention of his new nemesis. "He's a consulting detective. He invented the job too. I've never met anyone quite as brilliant as him. … You should check out his website—he's very impressive."

Oh how he wanted to slap that grin off her face. She idolized him! Every word she spoke about _The Virgin_ was oozing with adoration. It was disgusting! What was this? Jealousy? Assuredly not, perhaps it was the fact that Sherlock had one more person on his side. Not that he needed accomplices but Molly was attainable and he wanted her on his side, not Sherlock's. "Sounds like an interesting fellow."

"Mmhm. I'll have to introduce you to him sometime. He's usually in the lab, we work together. Well, when I say work together—I let him tinker with the lab equipment and I open the body bags…" He was giving her a somewhat amused look. Such a sweet dove she was but she had a love for some rather morbid things. He liked that. "Enough about Sherlock. What about you?"

"About me?" Why was she asking? Oh yes, right, they were on a date.

"Yes. What do you like?" Molly was practically fluttering with an unsafe amount of giddy. It was both frustrating and surprisingly endearing.

He waited until she was raising her drink to her lips before he responded. "I like you." It was a lie, of course, but she saw it as truth as she promptly dropped her coffee and spilt it all over the table. She shrieked and started raving apologies. The cleanup was simple and Jim simply picked up the newspaper table spread and crumpled it up.

"Tah-dah!" Jim waved his fingers as if performing a magic trick. They stayed for another several minutes. Molly finished her cake and Jim listened as she talked more about Sherlock and her work. He found out her father had passed away and she seemed upset for a moment. All he had to do to cheer her up again was compliment her. Molly was easy to please. He did not have to work at it. When she tried to talk to him about himself he either fabricated answers or steered the conversation towards her. Easy peasy.

Eventually he tired of the surroundings and took the first opportunity to leave. "C'mon Dove, let's get out of this dump," he said a little bit too loudly as many heads turned in his direction. Normally that would not have bothered him but the shock on Molly's face made him retract his statement. "I'm sorry! I mean… lovely… charming… Coffee bum." Sliding a tip onto the table he took Molly's hand and fled the scene.

Once walking out on the London streets, Molly fell silent. It was irritating having to start all the conversation and he thought he was playing charming so well. Why was she silent? She talked fine in the Bum place. Looking down he realized their hands were still linked. Oh. Well, that must be why. Letting go he noticed the loss of warmth and the bite of the cool air on his palm. Clenching and unclenching his fists he glanced over at her, "Now, now. Why so silent? You're making me nervous." To be safe he gave her a smile, hoping to lure her with gentleness.

"Oh, well," Molly started speaking as a car came down the street with a rather obnoxious honk. Jim shot his gaze towards it and glared, imagining the car bursting into glorious flames. "Well.. what?" Pulling out of the thought of the tenants of the car going up in smoke he turned a warm gaze to Molly. She liked it when he looked at her with interest, he could tell. It was different, having someone liking you to be near them. He was much more used to screaming from the company he kept. … That is when he kept any sort of company. No one ever got the chance to be near him for years. Molly was the first.

"Well… I'm having a good time. Thank you, Jim. It's… really nice." Molly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and he watched with curiosity. He supposed he was being rather nice and the most disturbing part was that he was finding it too easy. For the longest time he accepted his role as the villain. He was the mastermind behind the greatest crimes in the world— he was the king. Perhaps it was easy to be kind because Molly was harmless. Even if she found out who he was… he did not want to dwell on that.

Turning his thoughts to the game in play he measured his voice to be as welcoming as possible. "Well… have I proved myself?" His lips quirked up in a sort of crooked smile. Jim was enjoying himself.

She sputtered for a moment before speaking, "Proved what?" Her eyes widened and her mouth pressed into a thin line.

He could see the gears in her mind turning, trying to recall what he was trying to prove. Jim took advantage of her flustered state and leaned in, whispering in her ear, "Am I smooth?"

He got her smiling at that and they began walking closer together. Her chocolate gaze looking into his dark one, "Yes." Jim nudged her as they continued down the street, she laughed. He was still marveling at how different this all was, it was as if he were in another world. Making people laugh… it was something he could never manage before.

* * *

Jim was kind. Jim liked simple things such as a sunny day and classical music. Molly would watch him as the corners of his mouth would quirk up at the mention of something he liked. She would ask questions and his answers were always too simple, as if he was only revealing a half of himself, never truly opening up. Yet there was something about the way he looked at her that inspired trust. Perhaps it was his smile that ensnared her, for by the end of their first date she was smitten. Even during their brief interactions at work he managed to charm her senseless.

When she spoke of herself such a dazzling smile would appear on his face. It made her feel important and wanted. For once in her life she was the interesting one, the person someone was paying attention to. Molly was not desperate for anyone's company. She was perfectly content on her own, but when Jim asked if he could come over after work one day she didn't say no. Besides, it would be a nice change from only seeing each other at the coffee shop. Instead she let him into her small flat and he looked around as if entering a museum.

"It isn't much…" Molly began before a small dark figure was seen bolting toward Jim. "AH! … That's Toby." The feline was already purring and vying for Jim's attention. His eyes travelled down to the cat and he stared at it for several moments with a blank gaze. In small moments, such as this, Jim did not seem to be the overly gentle man he appeared to be. His focus was entirely on the cat and it seemed they were having a staring contest.

Jim's eyes looked to hers and he grinned, "Charming kitty." Even if his words were sweet he moved away from it and looked over her CD collection. Every once and awhile Toby would nuzzle into Jim's calf and he would simply move further away. It probably would have been best for her to retrieve Toby, but she wanted to see if Jim could stand him. If not… Jim may have to go. "Interesting taste you've got. I see you like weird foreign bands…" He trailed off as he picked up a certain CD. "_Nooooo_!" His exclamation was akin to that of a teenage girl finding out one of her peers had done something scandalous.

"What?" Molly came closer and scooped up Toby in her arms. It hit her then; a man was in her apartment. An attractive man, granted he wasn't Sherlock, was in her apartment and he asked to come over and he was looking at her CD collection! Her heart sped at the thought. This was new.

"You are a fan of classical music?" Jim opened the CD and carefully put it into the player.

Moving Toby to the sofa Molly joined Jim by his side and tried to get the CD, "That was my Mums." Of course he picked out a CD that could lead to an awkward situation. God knows what atrocities were on that.

"Well she had good taste didn't see?" The sound of violins flooded the room as Jim played the music nearly to its maximum volume. He shut his eyes and smiled, his head swaying to the music. "This is just brilliant."

A man who admitted openly about liking classical music, that was a first. She watched him with a fixed gaze as he continued perusing through her music collection. "… I suppose it is? I never really gave it much of a chance."

Jim's eyes flew open and before she could move he took her hands in his and pulled her into a dance. "Oh. I'll just have to change that." He pulled her closer to him and guided her into an imitation of a waltz. If Molly were as graceful as him it may have looked delightful. However, she knew they likely looked like two awkward preteens at their first school dance.

He led the dance and forced Molly to move with him, their feet often getting tangled in the mess. The song was slow at first, only with a few string instruments playing in unison. In the back of her mind she had to admit she liked it and she liked being this close to Jim. He was demanding as far as getting her to participate but his touch was gentle, even if he was still guiding her every move. She was like his puppet but this time she did not mind having her strings pulled… not this time.

"Bored now," Jim's smile turned mischievous as he drew apart from her. He then made her dance a practically medieval style of dance. Only their hands would touch and they would rotate in a circle. Molly was laughing hysterically and Jim was feigning disappointment. "You don't like my dancing?"

"I just cannot take you seriously." It was incredibly hard for her to stop laughing as Jim seemed to move with such ease at this ridiculous choreography.

"What? You're dancing too!" His voice went from shrill to nearly seductive in seconds "And you're just not used to men of culture are you?" His head tilted slightly and his whole demeanor seemed to lighten as he smiled. He gripped one of her hands and brought her slowly back into his arms, his eyes demanded she looked back at him. Jim set a possessive hand on her lower back, holding her in place. "Of course you're used to Sherlock Holmes."

Heat welled within her, "… He's just a colleague." They were swaying out of time with the music now and the clashing of the strings was driving her mad!

"Then what am I?" There was no hesitation between her reply and his question. It frightened her.

"… You're Jim." It was a stupid answer, but Molly could not think straight when he was this close or when he looked at her. It made her want to run away.

He was smirking, a bitter edge to his tone as he spoke, "I'm just Jim. … Jim from IT… the boy you went to coffee with once. Who am I compared to Sherlock Holmes!" It was a mockery of their short time together. She hated when he talked as if he were talking down to her. It was easy to hate him in that moment for bringing up Sherlock. … It made her feel shameful.

The music reached a maddening pace as a pleasant melody gave way to the beating of strings. Molly pulled away from him and walked over to the CD player. Fumbling with the buttons, she ejected the disk and looked back to Jim. She had meant to be angry, to show that he could not make her feel small but when she turned to face Jim he was so close to her that they nearly collided. "S—Sherlock is my friend."

Jim let out a frustrated, nearly animal groan and before she could process his actions his hand cupped her cheek and brought her lips to meet his. It was all over then, any chance of her escaping this mess unscathed. Molly would look back at this moment and wish she had pushed him away, that she told him to never touch her again. Instead, she kissed him back. It felt so right. His taste and the feel of him, everything set her aflame. For once, Molly Hooper was wanted.

* * *

He wanted. And what Jim wanted Jim took. Molly was so giving with herself, it was irresistible. When he trailed kisses down her neck she made the most delightful sounds in return. It had been a long time and Jim never felt desire. If anything it should not be with her, a timid and innocent girl!

Why couldn't he stop himself? _Control!_ He must always have control! Oh, but she was coming so willingly. Such kindness Molly had. It was all a ruse of course, another game to play. He wanted to get to Sherlock but he hated when she talked of him so … adoringly._ Mine!_ He wanted to claim what was his. Molly was his! If only for a short time, he would have her. Sherlock would not take her but he had her mind, Moriarty wanted her mind, her soul to want him and not Sherlock.

The kiss stopped and they breathed. She tasted sweet and he felt as if he had stolen innocence itself. It was delicious. "Am I more than just Jim?"

Her eyes slowly opened and he felt more and more possessive as he took note of the way she looked at him. She was fulfilling a need he did not know he had. He wanted her to continue to look at him that way; he wanted her mind to be his. "Yes."

A genuine smile appeared then. His eyes trailed from hers to her lips, he spoke again but hardly able to disguise the pure want laced in one simple word. "Good." Her lips were far too tempting and he pulled her toward him, taking his fill of her once again.

* * *

Of course bringing Sherlock Holmes into the story would make things difficult. The man had a talent for making others frustrated and miserable. His deductions saved lives but destroyed love live. She only wished it was not Jim she lost because of him. "Gay." Molly hated that word with a passion. Not the connotation of it, of course, but for the fact that Sherlock placed Jim in that category. They had plans! He wasn't gay! … he had kissed her.

The conversation they held afterword was a blur, Sherlock was of course solidifying his evidence and only John came to her defense. Molly had to admit she liked John. Ever since he and Sherlock started working together the sociopath became a little bit more manageable but apparently not when it came to her life, Sherlock could not manage to stay out of it. As soon as she could, she left Sherlock in the lab, not caring about his feelings— if he had them. Sometimes she truly did hate him!

Tears were brimming in her eyes as she quickly walked down the hall. There was a sudden but gentle tug on her lab coat. "Dove, what's wrong?" There was no forethought to her actions as she leapt into Jim's arms, he did not seem to mind as he tightened his arms around her, holding her firmly to him. She liked him; oh she liked him very much. They were a perfect fit, especially like this. Molly wanted to have this every day, to have him simply hold her when upset but that may not happen.

Sherlock Holmes was never wrong. That is what scared her as much as one could attempt to deny it. Once Sherlock has spoken, there was no way around it. It was the truth. Molly trusted Sherlock's judgments more than her own and with good reason. It was unfair! The only time she had ever felt truly wanted and it was all a lie? Why did he pursue her if he was not attracted to her? Jim could feel whatever he wanted but if it were true it would still hurt.

Breathing in the scent of him for what she thought may be the last time she whispered against him, "Are you gay?"

Jim started to laugh. Not the kind noncommittal laughter she had heard before but true uninhibited laughter. It was nearly villainous. The laugh shook them both as she felt his voice all around her and in her head. All she could manage to do was attempt to free her from his grip, feeling as if this was just another part of his lies. Molly squirmed in his grasp as his laughter continued and just as she moved far enough away, he grasped her head between both his hands.

"Oh Molly Hooper!" He kissed her forehead and chuckled a bit before kissing her square on the mouth. It was unexpected and slightly awkward as Molly couldn't quite figure out what to do with her hands. Luckily it was brief and Jim pulled away. He then gently played with a lock of hair curiously, examining the texture of it. "I am not."

A man in a lab coat walked by and Jim made a face at him before taking Molly's hand in his, "Come on Dove. Forget the fox. Let's go back to your place."

* * *

Of course he waited to see if his trick worked and it did. When Molly emerged he played the loving boyfriend and comforted her. Then his sweet Dove delivered the news! Sherlock Holmes was bested… by a pair of underwear and some hair product. It was a thrill to win the pregame before the actual fun began. He wanted to celebrate. One last bang for Jim from IT and then he was free to be who he truly was… _Moriarty_.

His celebration was short lived as he set off with her. He could have left then, as his work was done. Why he continued to follow her around like a sick puppy was beyond him. It was troublesome. They entered her flat and he kept his practiced dopey grin on his face, his cheeks becoming sore from nearly constant use over the last few days. He wondered how much of his smiles were genuine and how many were not.

"Jim? W-what did you have in mind?" She was standing near her sofa, her hands clasped in front of her. Like a sacrificial lamb waiting to be eaten! He took a step closer and his eyes caught her wetting her lips. There were moments where he felt he could slow down time, when the fact was that he was simply being over observant. Molly's eyes were fixed on his and grew more dilated as he approached. Her cheeks flushed when he raised a hand and outlined her jaw. He could feel her pulse racing. He could see all of her, every detail. The small beads of sweat that formed on her temple, the laugh lines that were gently carved into her features, the way her hair was coming loose out of her updo…

It was a peculiar thing for him, to simply stand there and marvel at her. His mind was racing telling him to conquer, to take and devour but there was another part of him that was quiet, quiet enough to ignore but he opted not to._ Don't harm her_, the voice seemed to say. _You never liked getting your hands messy, why start with her_? …You_ can't_ hurt her. His hand grasped lightly at her throat as if about to strangle her but instead he brought her closer. She whimpered and he smirked, kissing her forehead with an unfamiliar tenderness. "Let's get some pizza."

The two settled down to pizza and a movie, and he acted like nothing had happened between them, that there was no tension there, even if he felt it himself. It was infuriating that such a mouse could set him on edge, make him lust and hunger but most of all feel. No one made him feel that way. Anyone who made him feel anything was promptly put down. His trade required him to be unfeeling. Feeling anything at all was a weakness. Only amusement was necessary and playing games amused him greatly. Molly, unfortunately, was starting to be more than a game. He would not see her again after tonight of course, the game with Sherlock would begin.

He only had to step out once to make a call, make sure his troops were moving properly and give his voice to someone. Bombs weren't really his favorite, but it did get Sherlock Holmes on edge. Keeping the game going, Molly didn't even notice anything off. She simply put on a movie at his return and motioned for him to join her on the sofa. If only she knew who he was, she would not want him anywhere near her. Yet, this was the last night so he obliged.

Molly scooted closer to him and he felt a pang of lust. He could still remember the taste of her lips. In fact, he wished he could forget. He knew that she was not expecting the kiss, but she responded to him. She did not shy away. It was addictive, to have someone respond to you. Even if for a moment, to be wanted in return was something he rarely experienced. The movie she had put on was really dull and he felt need to make better use of their final hours. If he was not to play with her too much, he might as well let out some of these pestering temptations. Jim snatched up the remote with a flourish and looked over to Molly, "Dove?" He promptly clicked off the screen.

"Jim! I was watching that!" Her momentary frustrations disappeared as she processed his pet name. "And why do you call me that, anyway?"

Leaning in he was close enough to her that he could practically taste her. "I will tell you one day." And in a matter of seconds he was kissing her, hardly able to control himself as she let out little moans. Grasping at her hair clip, he pulled it out in a fuss. He wanted to feel her hair between his fingers. He wanted to feel all of her and he would not be denied. She wanted it too, because when he turned her so he may lie on top of her, she only sighed.

_Heat_. It was the only way he could describe what madness was welling up within him. A swell of heat, intolerable heat. Oh and she tasted so sweet. Jim's mind was slowly began to unwind as he let go of logic and simply felt. Her returned ardor urged him on. His hands roamed, explored and took note of how she reacted to him. The devil seducing an angel… well, fallen angel now. Her heart would belong to him. Trailing from her leg to her shirt he began to reach under until smooth skin was felt.

Fire was replaced by ice as one word was uttered from her: "Stop."

* * *

This was all moving so fast! Jim was pulling her towards him with undeniable strength. One grin or look could have her weak in the knees! For the longest time, she thought only Sherlock had that ability. Yet, Sherlock was unattainable and Jim was … here. Jim seemed to want her and by the looks of what had just occurred, he wanted her for more than just a friend. She was scared to put it simply and when she told him to stop, his eyes made her regret it.

He was hurt by her word. For once she could actually tell what was in his gaze; it wasn't the dark unreadable depths they so often were. It was the pain of rejection. She never wanted that but surely he must realize that this was too much for now. Even if her body was set alight. "J—Jim it's just too fast."

Jim froze, not removing his hands from her, he just looked at her. "You don't want me then?"

No! That's not what she meant! Think Molly think! What can you say, you really like Jim. Look at him! Her eyes trailed to his mouth but shot back to his eyes. Did she want him? She liked him, yes, but she didn't even know his last name. She knew nothing about him. "That's—that's not what I meant."

Something changed in his gaze then. He was looking at her as if she were an oddity, his eyes trailing up and down her face, only lingering on her eyes and lips. Reaching out he lightly traced her lips with the tips of his fingers. She could feel his breath on her cheeks. Shutting her eyes she let him leave trails on her face. She knew she needed to let him do this. If not, something bad would happen. There was something about him that was left unsaid that she understood.

Jim may be all these things to her. Kind and charming …but he was something else. Something just out of her sight. There was something off about him, if only slightly. There were moments when he would appear disconnected from her. Jim had been hurt by people. She just knew he had been damaged somehow. Perhaps she was all wrong. After all, she didn't know him.

"It's funny." His voice sounded different, as if his speech was now slower. "That it should be you of all people to distract me." Opening her eyes she met his gaze and he stared at her with such intensity that she wanted to run. However, that wasn't an option as he still lay atop of her. "Sweet Molly Hooper." He whispered her name as if saying a prayer, though, she had a feeling that Jim didn't pray.

It was then his phone chimed. Jim shut his eyes, a smile appearing. As if the sound brought endless amounts of joy. "Ahh." Jim opened his eyes to look at her. "I must go." He gently moved off of her and straightened his clothing as if he were wearing a suit; even if he was wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

Molly sat up, confused. "Going? … You can still stay." She wanted him to stay. Now that he was leaving she knew she wanted him to stay. Why must she be a mess of contradictions?

Jim pulled out his phone and made a face, "No… unfortunately, I really can't." Molly grew a bit irritated. Why wasn't he just telling her why he had to leave? She rose and stood in front of him, crossing her arms. Jims face lit up at that and his smile grew wider, pleased by her display.

"Why?" He would give her this one answer. He had to.

"Oh, Dove." He was beaming. "Tonight has been a good night. I just promised a friend a game. I really can't miss it. I've missed too many appointments with said friend. Don't want to be bad friend now do I?" He raised a brow in question.

"No. I suppose not." Now he was practically speaking in riddles. Perhaps she should lure him back to the sofa… but before she could act, he was walking toward the door. She opened her mouth to protest, but he turned towards her as he opened the door, resting one hand on it to keep it open.

"I like you Molly Hooper." There was a tense pause as he chuckled a bit, uneasy about something. "I … mean that." That statement was softer than the other and Jim looked to her for a response. He reminded her of a child, waiting to be told goodnight by a parent. He was expectant yet patient about it, knowing an answer would come eventually.

"I like you too." There was another one of his brilliant smiles and he gave a nod, raising his hand and waved before he shut the door. She heard his muffled voice from behind the door, making his way down the hall, no doubt on the phone. She listened until she could no longer hear him, but was never able to make out the words.

That was the last time Molly Hooper saw Jim from IT.

* * *

**Authors note: **Thank you to the lovely **Courtney** for reading through this and fixing any derps that may have escaped my notice (there were likely many). Thank you to my lovely tumblr followers for encouraging me to keep going with this fiction when I was discouraged. This will be a two shot. The next part will not be a happy one and I plan on getting it up as soon as possible. I will finish this, unlike my other fan fictions. Thank you for reading. Reviews and thoughts are wonderful and really keep me going with writing! Thank you for taking the time to read and have a fantastic day/evening!


	2. Part II

The fact that he wasn't answering his phone was the root of her fear. Time and time again Molly would call and all that would answer was a blank tone. How many times their last night together was replayed in her mind was unknown and the longer she didn't hear from him, the more she wanted him. Jim had ensnared her—every waking thought was with him. Comfort was found in her flat keeping a hold on Toby. The cat seemed to enjoy all the attention and was glad to have Molly back from the invaders company.

Jim _was_ an invader… Molly just didn't know it yet. A knock came to her door as she was having tea while watching a romantic comedy. Thinking that it may be Jim, she bolted for the door and opened it, only to find Sherlock there with John standing a little ways behind him.

"Molly," Sherlock said and walked straight into her flat. John knit his brow and quietly apologized but followed Sherlock in none the less. Never before had they visited her flat, in fact they only ever called her to let them into the morgue. Seeing them in such surroundings, Sherlock especially, was very odd.

"What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?" Molly had to admit to herself that she was disappointed to see them… and not Jim. Sherlock looked around, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Really Molly, finding your flat isn't exactly difficult." His nose was crinkled slightly in obvious distaste for her home.

Toby jumped onto the arm of the sofa nearest Sherlock and he glanced down at him with an almost disgusted look. Sherlock didn't do people—it wasn't likely animals were a favorite of his either.

"Sherlock," John warned. Molly never understood those two. They always had a hidden agenda. Always on a case or with bad news… JIM! What if Jim was hurt? What if Sherlock found out something horrible? It made sense! They would never care to bother her unless there was a terrible accident.

Molly took in a shallow breath, her voice squeaking, "What is it?"

Sherlock's expression went from annoyed to vacant. She could hear him tapping his fingers together behind his back. A painful silence followed until John cleared his throat and Sherlock spoke too quickly for her to fully understand what was being said. "Your boyfriend is a criminal mastermind and he attempted to blow both John and I sky high. He was responsible for the bombing on Baker Street and funded most of the criminals in London and around the globe."

"I'm… sorry?" He spoke so quickly that she did not have time to process his words. This was not a deduction of his. This was Jim! "I don't believe you."

"You should because he was using you to get to me. It was all a part of his game, a game which you are no longer playing. I doubt he will come looking for you again as your usefulness is up." His tone was final and emotionless; this was nothing more to him than stating the truth. There was no sugar coating the truth for Sherlock Holmes. Only logic existed.

"SHERLOCK!" John was a kind and level headed man but in that moment he looked like he was ready to punch Sherlock's smug face.

Molly looked between the two before Sherlock's words began to sink in. "No. He—" Tears came so easily then. There is nothing worse than being betrayed. When one's faith is placed in another, the worst thing that person can do is break that trust. Molly felt as if she were being stabbed repeatedly in the heart.

John came forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, "I am so sorry Molly, but you had to know. You cannot try and contact him again, you understand? It's all for the best." Molly nodded, too hurt to try and form words.

"I hardly think that's neci—" Sherlock began only to be interrupted by John. "Shut up." The army doctor was the only one who had the ability to silence Sherlock Holmes. At times Molly wish she could scream at the consulting detective for being so cruel. For so long she had done nothing but let him treat her as nothing! It was because of him that her life became a mess! She wouldn't even have met Jim if it wasn't for that stupid, cruel, pale faced sociopath!  
However, she knew it was not Sherlock's fault; it was simply easier being angry with him.

John looked on Molly with sympathy, and for that she was grateful. Sherlock would never be the one to say sorry but John was there, even when they hardly knew each other. He had enough kindness to make up for all that Sherlock lacked and if John weren't here, the damage would have been worse. Sherlock would drive her mad before long. "I—It's o-okay. You two should g-go," Molly sputtered in her attempt to hold back gross sobs.

"Is there anything we can do?" John asked, still concerned. Sherlock was watching her with a fixed gaze, his face remaining in a vacant state. There was no knowing what he was thinking, what he thought of her. She imagined he was disgusted over her tears because she was crying over a criminal.

"No. I just want to be alone." They both gave a nod and Sherlock strode out quickly while John walked somewhat behind, giving a wave and a sad smile as he shut the door.

Molly cried well into the night.

* * *

Time was a well-known friend of Molly Hooper. When her father died, she retreated into her work and let time carry the sting of her loss away. That was what time was supposed to do for Jim. Carry him away until he was a distant memory, a name she knew but a face she could hardly remember. One day Jim would be nothing to her, just as he was nothing… he didn't even exist.

It was easier now that she took off from work for some time. There was no more need to be there in case Sherlock may show up. She did not want to see him either. He would make a mean quip about how she was unable to pursue suitable choices for _possible life companions_. Oh, if only Sherlock realized he was insulting himself. The sociopath remained, as ever, clueless of her affection. After Jim, she saw Sherlock differently. Jim would have never entered her life if it wasn't for Sherlock. She would have been left alone and unhurt. She wouldn't be used by men on a whim so they could get what they wanted.

Even Sherlock used her. Was she so pliable to everyone else's will that she was no more than a prop in the lives of others? '_Never again_,' Molly said over and over in her mind. Yet the moment Sherlock called to be let into the morgue she arrived, ready and waiting, and accepting his forced smile as a payment. This was the life she had fallen into. She was the definition of invisible. Although she was helpful, her uses were limited. Even the unfailingly kind John Watson would dismiss her after so long. He would pay her common courtesy and be off. Every night was spent alone… with her cat. A cat! Molly was the top of her class, earning the highest honors in school, achieving everything she set out to do. Now here she was alone in London, with a cat. She loved Toby dearly, but wanted more than him.

To put it simply, the reality of Molly's loneliness was now suffocating her. Jim had taken what was left of her delusions about her life and crushed them. He wasn't even Jim. She didn't know who she was falling in love with just two weeks ago! A day out was needed, so Molly decided it was best to go to a shopping center. Time to herself would be nice. Well, time to herself surrounded by others. There was a delicious chocolate shop that seemed to call to her. Her personal stores of chocolates were running low since the truth about Jim was revealed.

The perk of living in London was having access to the best stores in the country—anything she could have wanted was at any given center in the city. It was a nice day and the crowds were not too horrible. Molly had headed directly to the chocolate shop and indulged in some truffles. After visiting some clothing stores she decided it was time to go up a floor. While on the escalator, the music that played through the entire center cut off abruptly.

A high pitched moan came from the speaker system until an achingly sweet man's voice sounded over the building. "Sorry about the interruption!" Molly froze. It felt as if her world had collapsed. _No. Please, anything but this_. Reaching the second floor, she ran off the escalator and grabbed hold of a nearby railing, feeling her mind spin.

It sounded so very much like Jim, yet there was something… unhinged about the way his words were formed. It was as if at any moment, he would start singing or screaming. "I just hate the screeching of pubescence trying to be adults in the world of music, don't you? … Now enjoy this new selection of music brought to you by our sponsors." With that last chide, his voice was gone.

What came back on was not the popular boy band that was playing before, but a piece of classical music. Sounds of protest could be heard from customers—everyone talked about how odd it was that the music should change to this baroque nearly medieval sounding song. Everyone talked but Molly. It was not just a bad song to her, it was their song. That very same song they danced to all those weeks ago.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as the song seemed to blast at her from all directions. He was here and she knew he was watching. She could feel his eyes on her. This was not her Jim. This was the man Sherlock and John described, and Molly did not have any desire to meet him. In a panic, Molly ran for the nearest escape and found a stairwell blocked off: wet floors.

Nearby there were vacant elevators. No crowds were queuing to find a way down, and the other escalator was on the other side of the shopping center! Pushing the button, she did not look as the doors opened for her. Even as she stepped in, she did not see the man standing in the corner. It wasn't until the door shut again and they started to move did he speak, making his presence known.

"Hi, Dove," He spoke quietly and … dare she think it, nearly affectionately.

Moving to the other side of the elevator instinctively, she began to press the door open button. Jim sighed and casually walked over to her and pressed the emergency button. All movement was halted. "That's better," he murmured. Molly stood still, her hands trembling, and gaze downcast. She could not bring herself to look at him.

"Go away," Her words were soft and did not hold the punch she wanted them to. What she wanted more than anything was to scream and hit him over and over until he was bruised for the rest of his days. Instead she whispered, "Leave me alone."

Out of the corner of her eye she saw his smile, still the same brilliant grin that ensnared her. "I put on this show for you. Tell me do you like our song? La Follia… they call it." He made her sick to her stomach. "One of the oldest dances on record. Every composer has a different take on it, you know?"

He paused as she did not respond to him. "You're afraid of me now aren't you?" She looked at him, his eyes seeming dark and unreadable unlike the last time she saw him. This was not Jim.

"I'm afraid of Moriarty." It was not a lie. Jim from IT was not horrifying. This man before her now was.

The smile from him turned into a scowl, "I am Moriarty." His eyes never left her face, though she wished they would. There was something unhindered about this man, something unknown and unpredictable. At any moment he may begin to scream or cry. Most of all, she didn't want him looking at her because it wasn't Jim…

"Just let me go!" Molly pleaded. There was no point in any of this. She was useless!

He let out a soft sigh and nearly breathed his excuse, "I owe you an explanation."

"What?"

"—Why I call you Dove. I never told you."

She didn't reply.

"You know doves are just glorified pigeons? Pigeons and doves were used to travel great distances for their master. Doing whatever their owner wished of them, even if it meant death. You were Sherlock's little dove," He spat Sherlock's name bitterly. "I never wanted you to be his, you see. I claimed you as mine. Much as any other would have done upon seeing an abandoned dove, I took you in."

So that's what she was? A pet project! An experiment to play with! "I never needed your help!" Molly was seething. Every part of her wanted to fight. There he was standing before her, grinning at her display of emotion.

* * *

Deep down he always knew Molly had it in her to fight back. He saw her potential. Why couldn't she see that he still wanted her? Yes, the fact drove him mad, but he craved her all the same. Coming forward, he kept his gaze fixed on her and she backed against the wall. Just as he was about to touch her cheek, she pushed him back. _Oh!_ His dove learned how to bite back as well! Good!

His smile grew as he grabbed a hold of her wrists, forcing her back against the wall. She squirmed but the moment her eyes met his she stopped. "Oh Molly," He nearly sang out her name. What he saw in her eyes did cause some troubling stirrings; the unfamiliar feeling of remorse. Jim's smile disappeared as he made sure she did not look away. "I would never harm you."

There was a long silence before she spoke again, her voice broken and hardly loud enough to be considered a whisper, "You already did." Then she started to cry. James Moriarty had seen many people cry. Crying over their loved ones dying, crying for mercy. Tears were a sign of weakness, but when Molly cried it was different. One thing he hated about her was that she somehow managed to make him feel for her. He wanted to lock her away and keep her hidden, safe and away from all those who would harm her. She was his humanity, the last of it, but there she was.

"No, Molly. Stop that." Wiping away her tears seemed to have the opposite effect of what he wanted. She cried harder, sobs wracking her frame until she was shuddering with every breath. For a very small moment, Jim stared, unknowing of how to act. His hands hovered over her as he looked on with bewilderment. When he was a child he would cry he one day realized it made him vulnerable. Jim never cried after that. Even at his weakest, he never cried. Instead, he learned to fight back.

He did not want Molly to have that, to live with this unfulfilled void. Unable to process his actions, he came forward, and pulled her into an embrace. There was a sound of protest from her, but she soon settled against him. He could feel her hair tickle the side of his neck as she laid her head against his shoulder. She was so warm, so sweet; he wanted to have her there to hold every day. He wanted her to be his, to have her see no one but him, to think of no one but him. Even in his most humane moments, James was incredibly selfish.

He stayed still until her sobs and wailing subsided. Yet he did not let her go when they fell into silence, and she did not push away from him. Yes, he thought. Trust me. Want me, only me. Never Sherlock, never your god awful cat again. "Molly—" when he spoke up at long last, she shuddered at his voice. She was still afraid of him. Everyone was afraid.

"Come with me and you will never hurt again," It was neither a command nor an offer, just a statement. If she came with him, he would see that the world was at her feet—a proper queen. _His_ queen. The silence from earlier seemed to return with a vengeance. He moved ever so slightly to look at her. Her eyes were not on him, but on the ground. Her expression was vacant, as if he had driven her soul from her body.

* * *

He held her, and she let him. And the worst part of it was that it felt good to give into him. His arms were wrapped stiffly around her, but relaxed in the passing minutes. In fact, his hold on her seemed to tighten, forcing her against him. The tears stopped and soon their breathing was nearly in sync. In that moment, he was Jim once more. Life had a way of presenting certain illusions at certain times. For just this fraction of their lives they were together and nothing else mattered. There was no Moriarty or Sherlock. There was nothing but Molly and Jim. But illusions were made to be broken.

At his offer, reality returned with a vengeance, crushing her soul and making the simple task of standing difficult. She couldn't go with him, could she? It would not be right, and Molly always did what was right. The ground became the object of her attention when she could feel his eyes on her. Minutes passed, and her only system of measurement of time was her rapid heartbeat, for all she knew, she was there for hours. After a painful pause, she murmured: "No."

He reacted viciously, clasping her face between his hands and forced her to look at him. His eyes were a wild mixture of pain and hysterical panic. Molly forced her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay—she couldn't stand to see his face when this all was over. "LOOK AT ME!" Moriarty's voice was no longer measured, but laced with dread. The villain of their story could feel and that was what caused Molly to care for him. No matter what he did or how betrayed she felt, there was always a part of Jim inside of Moriarty and she could not truly hate him.

Meeting his gaze she bit back a sob, "It's over, Jim." He shook his head and looked her up and down, as if he could find a different answer elsewhere on her person. "I can't do this… let me go." His hands traveled from her face to her shoulders, his grip tightening until she was sure there would be bruises. "Jim—"

Jim started to tremble ever so slightly, his expression pained. "I can give you everything." She shook her head and he pushed her to the wall once more, Molly braced for violence but his next remark was incredibly quiet: "You'll go back to Sherlock… back to your cage. I would've let you free." His eyes had become glazed over much like how the blind look at nothing in particular. "You're so ordinary." He bit at the words, as if they left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Molly knew that she was nothing but a plain, timid woman. She had known all along, Jim knew this, he must have. Whatever hopes he was placing in her were unfounded. She could not go with him. It would go against her very nature. "What are you going to do with me?" Then he laughed and looked to the ceiling in a moment of abandon.

"I'm going to let you go, Molly Hooper." He looked back down to her, his expression now mournful. Gently tracing her lips, much like he did their last night together, looking on her with his own type of reverent examination. Their gazes locked as they simply stared. He moved closer to her, his eyes travelling down to her lips, it was clear what he wanted. If she let him, she would be committing a grave wrong, she couldn't, not even if a part of her wanted him. "Jim I—"

"I know." He raised both hands in the air in a motion of surrender. A small smile crossed his lips as he pulled out his phone, pressing his touch screen the elevator began to move again. The doors opened with a chime and the world outside awaited her. "You're free, Dove." Glancing to her he scoffed and moved his hands in a shooing motion, "Fly on home!" He looked out the doors as if waiting to see her run for her life, screaming for help. Instead she did something that surprised herself.

Coming forward, she placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. She felt for him. Whether it was pity or something else, she did not quite know. He turned sharply to her, at first seeming surprised until a smile appeared. "Ahhh. Kissing the villain is against the rules." Molly smiled at that, even if it was somewhat forced. Jim was not the villain; he was simply playing a game others frowned upon. A game she herself frowned upon…

"Goodbye, Jim." Molly acted before she could think, knowing that if she stayed another moment she may go with him. Stepping out of the elevator she heard another chime. Looking back, she saw Jim watching her with a smile still plastered on his face. His expression was fabricated. It was his eyes that betrayed him. His eyes told her that he was in pain. Just before the doors of the elevator shut she heard him say. "Goodbye."

* * *

He allowed himself to be captured easily. He needed to trick them into thinking he was just an insane criminal. That he had a magical key. He was weaving his own fairy tale after all. They were children insisting on playing a game with his friend when they weren't welcome. They tortured him, of course, but not even that was enough.

'_Humpty dumpty sat on a wall…'_

Molly haunted him. She became yet another demon that took up camp in his mind. He let her go even if every part of him wanted to make her love him and worship him. He knew she would never bend. That was why he wanted her—because she was so good. Everything would have been hers. The world would be at her feet. Never again would she have been ignored. He would have treated her with all of the humanity he could muster, all of the respect she deserved. And he would have lavished attentions on her and in return she would be there. She would remain by his side. _His_. Whether his intentions would lead to reality was unknown, Jim himself never knew how he would take any given situation.

All he had now were fantasies. When The Iceman brought all of his men to take him in for interrogation, he retreated into those fantasies. They beat him mercilessly and he did not say a word. He was somewhere else, living another life that could never be; a life where he could think and simply be among people and not above them. Where he could make love to Molly and have her want him in return.

But she rejected him. She sided with Sherlock, _Sherlock_; his opponent, the only person worthy to challenge him. For his entire life, he had been searching for someone like him. No one wants to be entirely alone, you see. Not even those whose mind is off kilter. Jim searched his whole life for anyone to see him and play his game correctly. People have died in the course of his relentless quest. At first he thought it unfortunate, that so many should die, but he soon found a way to keep his hands clean.

James had never spilt blood personally and rarely for his pleasure. Carl Powers' death was for revenge, and that's where Sherlock entered the playing field. The boy about his age came snooping about the pool, looking for clues. He remembered the lanky teenager was different and that his name was odd. Sherlock Holmes. Jim watched from the shadows and hoped to see if this newcomer had what it took to discover the truth.

It all ended in disappointment. Sherlock could not figure it out. As much as he insisted to the authorities that it was a murder, who would believe a kid? Years passed and he forgot about Sherlock and continued searching. Years later, some of his investors were foiled by a consulting detective. Looking into it, he found out it was none other than Sherlock Holmes and the game begun. The game, the test to see if Sherlock was worthy.

'_Humpty dumpty had a great fall…'_

What was unexpected was being led to Molly. Yes, she was part of the game at first and an easy addition. The trick was not on her but him. She managed to make him feel for her. Make him want her. Jim never felt for anyone, really. Everything he felt was internalized to the point of non-existence. When he had emotions, they were difficult for him to process and would often result in a temper tantrum worthy of a five year old.

Some said he was insane. He just knew he wasn't ordinary—he wasn't like the rest of them. The interrogator began to get rough with him and administer blows to his jaw. He knew that The Iceman was watching from beyond, trying to get the answers he wanted. All this time and he said nothing. They were very persistent, and he did feel the pain. However, it wasn't strong enough to bring him from his mind. James Moriarty learned how to live in his mind. Once inside, none would reach him.

The interrogation stopped and a door opened. From the hall, he saw a familiar tall figure standing, his visage outlined in black. It was time for the elder Holmes to tell the story of Sherlock. James smiled, "All the kings' horses and all the kings' men… couldn't put humpty together again."

* * *

"Molly, I think I'm going to die." Death was familiar; death was what Molly dealt with every day. When a soul left a body, it was no longer the person that you knew, but a shell. Molly rarely felt any remorse for seeing bodies. However, the moment Sherlock said those words, the cold reality of what death really was returned. Death took away loved ones from your life. Death destroyed. The reaper did not care whether a person was loved or hated, every life ended the same way. Every light eventually flickered out.

She helped Sherlock because after everything, Molly Hooper still cared for Sherlock. Not because she fancied him, but because no one else did. There were few in Sherlock's life, and fewer still Sherlock would trust enough to accept their help. He was a proud man and overconfident in his own abilities to cheat even death itself. When he came to her, she knew she had no choice but to help him. Molly would always answer to Sherlock's call.

Sherlock's plan was simple shrouded in mystery and he did not tell her any more than she needed to know. Her part was small but apparently essential, as Sherlock put it. Sherlock told her to go home and come back like a normal work day with the exception of parking her car close and bringing her keys into the morgue with her, not in her locker. That was all he said when she started to question he gave her an overly human look that made her go silent. Knowing Sherlock had reasons for the command, she obeyed.

Her flat was empty and dark. Molly tried to turn on the lights, but there was no response. The flat remained dark. The only light was coming from the window, the streetlights from outside casting eerie shadows within the room. Power outages were common as this was the cheapest Molly could manage in the city. Living in London was expensive. "Toby?" Molly called for her cat only to hear a chuckle from one of the darkened corners.

"Who's there?" Grabbing a nearby book for what little defense it could offer, she scanned the flat. "Come out!"

"_Really_! What a threat you are!" Jim stepped into the light. He was dressed in his finest suit, not a hair out of place. Even with a smile on his face, he looked menacing. Molly's heart clenched at the sight of him. For the past months she really thought she would never see him again. In fact, she was in the process of moving on with her life. Seeing other people… or attempting to.

Unable to hide her anxiety, she spoke, "What do you want?" His grin slowly faded from his visage and was replaced with a comical frown.

"To see you, obviously." Jim placed his hands in his pockets and started to approach her. Molly flinched and he chuckled. "I'm not going to hurt you, Molly."

It was infuriating having him treat her this way, especially after finding out all of the atrocities he did. … How he was putting her friends in harm's way. "Why should I believe you? All you've ever done is lie!" In a moment of absolute rage, she threw the book at him. Jim evaded it easily and let out a villainous cackle.

"Because if I wanted you dead, you would be dead by now. If I wanted you to suffer you would have gone through far worse than my lies, I assure you." All the while he was advancing, like a snake charming its prey with smooth movements.

"Just leave me alone!" Molly wished she had something else to throw at him but her protest made him advance faster until he was standing before her, a small smirk settled on the corners of his mouth. Attempting to push him away he grabbed her waist and pulled her close. Molly proceeded to pound on his chest, hoping to administer as much damage as she could. "I HATE YOU!"

He pulled her closer still until she could feel his warmth. He acted as if her protests were nothing. "I HATE YOU!" Her movements slowed to a slow drumming until finally she stopped, "I hate you." Still she did not cry. So many tears were shed for his sake, for the pain he caused her. Jim placed both hands on her face, turning her gaze towards his own.

"No you don't." A rare yet familiar smile appeared, even if his eyes remained troubled, she knew that look. It was Jim. Not Moriarty, not the murderer but the man… Jim. Just Jim. Something was wrong, he held himself in a very similar way to how Sherlock was behaving earlier. _Molly, I think I'm going to die._ Why did he look like a man about to go to war? Having a silent acceptance of his fate, whatever that may be.

"… Jim?" He knew what she wanted to know, he had to. Yet all he did was brush her hair back and keep his gaze fixed on her face. What hurt her was the look he was giving her. Molly may not be the social butterfly, but she understood people, even Jim. In the end everyone is the same. Everyone feels pain; everyone struggles with where they fit in. And Jim looked so lost.

He shook his head and sighed, "I just came to finish things up."

"What do you—" Molly never finished her question. Jim kissed her quickly and passionately, as if trying to grasp onto life itself.

* * *

The kiss was not romantic or clean. It was desperate and full of unspoken wants. It was their last chance, and Jim knew this. His hands traveled down her body until finding her hips and pulling her towards him. Letting abandon reign over their actions, she allowed herself to kiss him back and he responded by diving deeper, grateful to be met with such a response. He wanted to show her what it would have been like, but more importantly he wanted to know what it would have been like. Why couldn't he have what everyone else had?

Why didn't she want him like this? Why did he choose to play a game that lead to such ends? How was it possible that Molly could evoke such clarity? That was her gift. She could help others see. He did not feel possessive over her, not anymore. Yes, he wished that she had sided with him but that was never to be. His fate was already decided, hers was yet to be determined.

He was resigned. At long last, he accepted the outcome to the final problem. He kissed her slowly and deeply, enjoying the feel of her lips on his, the taste of her consuming his senses. Backing her against the arm of the sofa, he leaned in, making sure she returned his passions. This could not go too far, of course, no matter how willing he was to ruin her.

Swiftly, he pulled out a small syringe needle. Keeping it hidden, he continued to lavish her with kiss after kiss, not wanting to end this. Air was eventually needed and Molly broke off, yet still remaining close to him. Oh, she regretted this. He saw it etched on her features but that was the tragedy. They could never have each other, not really. They were two sides of humanity that were never supposed to touch.

Using his freehand he outlined her face, studying every wrinkle, every imperfection. Knowing time was short, he moved in, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. She returned his small show of affection and he chuckled, "Afraid not, Dove." Her doe eyes looked on him with confusion as he jabbed the syringe into her arm. There was a satisfaction to watching the drug overcome her. She relied on him not to stay upright.

"Jim? What did you do?" Her speech was slurred and he only held her to him, listening as her breathing became more relaxed. She was afraid, they were always afraid. "I said I wouldn't hurt you. You're just going to go to sleep…" He ran his fingers through her hair and marveled at the feel. "I'll become a dream. That would be nice, to have you remember us as a dream…a fairytale."

The drug was working quickly as her eyes began to flutter shut. Jim still kept her in his arms, rocking her slowly, letting her sink into the abyss peacefully. "I just wanted to say goodbye properly." He held up the syringe, looking as the last of the liquefied drug remained at the tip of the needle. "Can't have you remembering..."

She was long gone by then, yet he still held her, listening to her intake of breath. He felt her body release the air. Molly Hooper was alive and she would remain that way. Easily lifting her, he laid her down on the sofa, she was so helpless and in the hands of the monster. Jim always liked fairytales. His life finally resembled one at this moment but there were no such thing as a happy ending, on any part. Pulling out his phone, he reread the only message on it.

_Come and play._

_Bart's hospital rooftop._

_SH_

_PS. Got something of yours you might want back._

Returning his phone to his pocket, he looked down at Molly. Sleeping soundly and safely, his gunmen would avoid her. For today, she would remain in her flat, nonexistent. He knew she would be wandering around Bart's getting in the way of his game. He had to stop her. She would become collateral damage if she were to be anywhere close to the hospital. Why not steal a few moments with her before he put her to sleep? He really couldn't help it. It would be the last time he saw her, he knew, unless Sherlock disappointed him. The game was set now and he was ready to play it to its final end.

* * *

Getting to the roof was easy. During his time as "Jim from IT", he studied the back hallways and seldom used staircases. Funny, how that game played into the larger game. Then again, his act did change his game in more ways than one. It led him to Molly… the woman. Sherlock had a woman. Why couldn't he have his? True, Molly wasn't an overconfident dominatrix, but she managed to do something no one else could do: Remember his humanity.

It set him off to find himself feeling again, but cutting off the emotions was a habit and it became easy to forget, to lose himself in the game. Reaching the roof, he looked around. Sherlock was so dramatic. This setting was proof of that. Wanting to get this whole mess over with, he texted Sherlock, knowing he would come at his word.

_I'm waiting…_

_JM_

James stared at the screen. No messages and no missed calls. He didn't exist. Playing an all too familiar song, he waited. Listening to the lyrics of 'staying alive' grated his nerves. Staying alive… it was all so pointless. Everything ended. Sherlock arrived and their game reached its climatic end. Jim truly thought that Sherlock had failed him a second time. That he was truly alone in the world.

If Sherlock Holmes was not like him, then no one was. Then he was an oddity, he was nothing. No matter how high he rose, he was nothing and would remain so. Waiting for Sherlock to jump, the tables turned and Sherlock began to prove himself worthy once again.

Jim looked to his nemesis with a reverent respect and realization. He's me. We're the same. Finally. At last… I'm not alone. For that, he would be forever grateful to Sherlock. Oh but now his part of the game was done. The last play from James Moriarty was to be made. The play he had been longing to make his entire life.

The end. "As long as I'm alive, you can save your friends, and walk away…well good luck with that!" He felt his gun in his hand and relished the look on Sherlock's face—the look of surprise and horror. The cool metal of the gun was felt in his mouth, and he smiled. He wanted to die with a smile on his face. He thought of her for a split second. He thought of the life he could never have and was content to put himself to rest.

He pulled the trigger.

* * *

All that could be heard was the hum of the air conditioner. Her eyes would not even open. Molly felt like she had one too many drinks. What happened last night? Molly forced herself to look around. Nothing was off or out of place. When she tried to remember, nothing but hazy images returned. Jim was here… but… Jim? No he couldn't have been here. She hadn't seen him in months. Gathering her senses she remembered she had something very important to do. Sherlock needed help? … SHERLOCK!

It was late in the day now, Sherlock needed her. Molly stood, tripping in the process. Did she drink last night? Running out the door with her car keys she didn't care how disheveled she might look. The streets surrounding St. Barts were unusually empty, but full of officers. Molly parked and saw two policemen taking pictures of blood on the ground. Had there been a shooting? Could it be…? No. Sherlock said he would be okay. She mustn't think on how much blood was on the ground. Sherlock never failed. He was never wrong. Picking up her pace, she entered the morgue, not bothering to change into her lab coat.

At the front of the room there were two bodies, covered in sheets of white. Approaching them, she was interrupted by an officer clearing his throat, "Two suicides. I don't think we need any full on autopsies done. We're storing the bodies here for now." He looked at a piece of paper and back to her, "You're Molly Hooper?"

"Yes." Molly was looking over at the bodies… if only she could just see who they were. "Uhm… am I not needed today?"

The officer shook his head, "Well, will you look for signs of struggle on the bodies? We're trying to find out if there was a fight before the suicides." Molly nodded and the officer handed her the proper forums. "I'll—uh leave you too that then." Giving a curt nod, the officer left and Molly waited until he was well down the hall before she ran towards the bodies.

"Sherlock?" She went to the taller looking body and lifted up the sheet to see Sherlock. He was staring at her, clearly alive but covered in blood. In fact, she was certain he had come back from the dead. Molly began to scream but his hand flew to her face, covering her mouth.

"Molly, it's all fake." He gestured to his face before releasing her. He really looked… dead. "Where were you?" He looked her up and down, "You're wearing the same clothes as last night." Sherlock swung his legs over the examination table and stretched, all the while studying Molly. However, he likely decided the matter was unimportant as his attention shifted to the fake blood caking his hair and face.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. I'm here now though." She handed him her keys. Molly wasn't sure what else she was supposed to do. Luckily Sherlock wasn't put onto a tray and locked up. So this was her purpose—to get Sherlock back from the dead. Molly collected some sanitary wipes for Sherlock and he began to clean away the fake blood.

They remained silent for several moments until he looked to her, "John can't know I'm alive." Molly was about to protest, but he held out his hand to silence her. "I don't expect you to understand, but no one can know. It's essential that you keep my secret." Sherlock had a panicked look in his eye. "Do you promise that you will let no one know I'm alive?"

She could do nothing but agree to his terms. "I promise." Molly gave a nod and Sherlock looked to the body a few feet away from them.

Sherlock's gaze did not move from the body. He simply stared for several long moments, his eyes swimming with unspoken emotion. Keeping his eyes fixed on the body he spoke, "You will tell whoever inquires that my body has been moved. John and Mrs. Hudson will hold a funeral, I suspect. Though there will only be an empty coffin. Tell them that my face was a mess… you work out the details, but I need a closed casket for my service and you mustn't let anyone attempt to see my body, even if they say they can handle whatever gruesome details you give them."

Molly's head was spinning. He was going to be dead. He was faking his own death! Why? "But… we will see you again. Won't we? You're not really dead… you'll come back?" Her question was sincere. There were those who cared for Sherlock, and his death would be a great tragedy. He had to come back.

Sherlock looked to her with a very human and sad smile. It seemed unnatural that he should look like death itself and still appear at his most human. Standing he came forward, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, Molly Hooper. I'll get your car back to you soon." Sherlock did not look back as he left and was out the door before she could fully gather what had happened. Moving the slab, he had been on she made sure no trace of his presence was known. Molly eventually shrugged off her coat and put on her lab coat.

Wanting to give the appearance of being at work she prepared herself to examine the other body. Putting gloves on she gingerly lifted the sheet without looking directly at whoever it was. Her gaze was looking over the papers. One name read Sherlock Holmes and the other… James Moriarty. A tightness in her throat caused breathing to be difficult. Slowly, her eyes travelled to the body before her. She noticed the suit first, tailored perfectly to his body. Her eyes trailed up his figure until she saw his face. "Jim."

The clock at the back of the room was all she could hear, all she could process. Slowly removing the rest of the white material she looked him up and down once more. It really was him. Her breathing became more panicked as the loss of him became more apparent. Molly ripped of a glove and her hand flew to his neck, wanting more than anything to feel a pulse. It did not matter that his expression was lifeless or the back of his head was covered in blood. She couldn't let this be true. "Oh god." There was no pulse. "… No."

And she truly wept, her tears spilling over and leaving small stains on his coat. Why did it hurt so much to see him there? Wanting to be closer she leaned her head on his chest, wishing that by some miracle she would feel him breathing but only cold and stiffness met her. Life… there was no life in him.

For one who had seen so much death, she still could not accept it. She cried for the longest time, simply laying there, grasping onto his coat sleeves, shaking him, and calling to him. What was worse, she could imagine him patting her head and laughing, saying "_Gotcha_!" Jim would tell her that he tricked her and got her to cry over him, that she should've seen her expression. But that was not to be.

Looking up into his face, only a blank stare greeted her. Reaching forward she closed his eyelids. Why, Jim? Molly was shaking now, feeling bereft of all warmth herself, just like his shell was. She stood in several moments of silence before a hazy memory began to return. Whether from the throes of shock and grief she wasn't sure but it was there none the less. Last night. The images that came to her mind only worsened the pain and Molly felt her knees begin to buckle.

Forcing herself to stay upright she propped herself up, using the table for support. The cold metal bit at her hands, for a moment she thought to get Jim away from the cold; then she remembered that he couldn't feel it. Feeling her balance returning she looked to his face again, tears stinging at her eyes. Placing a hand on his cold cheek she felt like screaming for him to wake up. Instead, she gingerly straightened out his clothing and hair. Molly forced back some hysterical weeping before whispering a simple truth, "I hate you."

Grief has many side effects and it often makes your mind soft and undefended. For one grief stricken Molly Hooper, she could have sworn he spoke one last time. One last reply, 'no you don't.'

* * *

**Authors note: **Thank you to all who took the time to read this. I hope you enjoyed it to some extent. **_If you read this_** I would LOVE if I got any sort of feedback. Please don't be shy, I would love to hear any of your thoughts! If not a comment on here feel free to contact me on my tumblr (unreasonablyme is my username). Thank you to **Courtney **for putting up with my crazy and reading through my story. Well, that's that. Thank you again!


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